Hard News (22 page)

didn’t we, Court?” “Awful, yeah,” the little girl said. Megler said, “And I told this young lady that not having the tape or the second

witness-“ Rune interrupted to explain about Bennett Frost’s death. Boggs was frowning. “Got himself killed?” “Medical examiner says it was an accident, but who knows?” Megler said, wanting to take the stage again. “Anyway, with him dead, it wasn’t looking too good. But what with you having a cute little girl you have to support-“

Megler missed the glance Boggs shot Rune and the sweep of her eyes across the grimed ceiling.

“-I thought we could make a good case in court. I got a deposition from the first witness, Ms Breckman, who admitted that most of her ID was based on seeing you on TV
after
you’d been arrested. Then . . .” He paused dramatically. “I got a special ex parte hearing and presented my new secret witness.” Boggs cocked his head. “You found yourself
another
witness?” Rune bowed. “Me!” “I put Rune on the stand for Frost’s testimony. Frost told her what he saw, about this other guy killing Hopper. Normally, that’s hearsay and wouldn’t be admissible but since Frost is dead she can testify about what Frost said.” She said, “Oh, I was great. ‘Do you solemnly swear . . .’” Megler said, “I also let slip the fact that she was a reporter for
Current Events.
I mean, justice is one thing but media? Forget about it. ... The judge practically made sure she had the correct spelling of his name.” Rune said, “And, poof, he released you.” “From the bench,” Megler said solemnly. “Don’t happen too often that way.” “I’m free?” “Pending the prosecutor’s decision on a new trial. They’ll probably just let it drop. But you have to stay in New York City until they decide. You can travel if you tell the DA’s office but you can’t leave the state.”

“My dear Lord,” Boggs said. “I don’t know what to say.” He leaned forward and shyly kissed Rune’s cheek. Then he stood up and walked to the window.

Megler said, “You’ve earned yourself the right to walk through the slime of New York just like anybody else. . . . Now, you got any money?” “They give me some when I came out. Not a lot.” Megler was opening up his wallet. A wad of twenties appeared. A couple hundred bucks’ worth. He aimed it toward Boggs, who shook his head. “No, sir, thank you anyway.”

“It’s a loan is all it is. Come on. Pay me back when you can. Ha, you don’t, I’ll sue your butt.”

Boggs was blushing as he took the money and he put it into his pocket as quickly as possible. Megler was giving him advice about getting jobs, what sort of work to look for. Boggs looked solemn for a moment. “Something I’d like to do. A friend of mine got

himself killed in prison. I’d like to go see his family. Up in Harlem.” “You look like you’re asking permission,” Megler said. “You want to go, just go.” “Yeah, I could, I guess. Sure. I wasn’t thinking.” Then Boggs was saying he had to look for a hotel room.. . . No, first some food then a room. No, first he wanted to walk down . . . what was that street there? Boggs pointed out the window. “Over there? Broadway,” Megler answered. “I want to walk down Broadway.” Rune corrected, “Actually, you’d probably be walking
up
Broadway from here.” “Up Broadway, and I want to stop and go into some of those stores.” “Plenty to choose from,” the lawyer offered. “Shitty merchandise, overpriced.” “Shitty,” Courtney echoed. “And check out some other streets too. And nobody’s going to tell me not to.” “Not a soul in the world.” Boggs was grinning.

Rune said, “I’ve got some tapes left but I’ll have to interview you again. I want to

start as soon as possible.” Boggs laughed. “Well, you don’t hardly have to even ask. There’s only one thing I’d

ask first.” “Sure.” “You think we might rustle up some beer? It’s been a while, and I’ve really got me a taste.”

24 The plastic bag rang like sleigh bells. It contained: a Heineken, a Moosehead, a Grolsch, two Budweisers (“Not the best by a long shot but it was my first - mind if I get a couple for, you know, sentimental reasons?”), a Tecate and a six-pack of Corona. Rune had also bought some Amstel but Randy Boggs had never drunk light beer in his life. “Don’t believe I’d like to celebrate my freedom with something like that.”

They turned onto Christopher Street and aimed themselves at the Hudson, waiting for the stoplight to change. When it did they crossed the wide West Side Highway, Courtney holding tight to Rune’s hand and looking left and right the way she’d taught the little girl.

Boggs asked, “Uh, where’d we be going?” He looked uncertainly toward the deserted waterfront. Rune felt Southern when she was with Boggs and she answered, “Yonder.” He looked at where she was nodding and laughed. “There?” They walked up the yellow gangplank to the houseboat, Boggs grinning and looking around him. “You don’t need me to say anything ‘bout it, I suppose. You live on one of these, you musta heard all kindsa comments by now.”

Inside, Boggs walked from room to room, shyly inspecting. He’d carefully touch the stuffed animals, the scraps of lace Rune draped over lamps, the rosy and blue magic crystals, her books. He’d laugh occasionally as he tried to figure out something -an eyelash curler or a broken antique apple parer that Rune bought because she thought it was a medieval weapon.

In the kitchen she put the beers away and fixed the food they’d bought - crispy-fried Chee-tos and cans of refried bean dip and little shrimp cocktails in jars with pry-off lids. “I love these things. And you can use the jars for juice glasses later.”

“Juice,” said Courtney. Rune poured Ocean Spray for the girl then filled a Winnie the-Pooh dish with bean dip and handed her a spoon.

“This is ugly,” the girl said, looking into it. “Yes, it is.” But she took the utensil and began to pick up bits of dip and wad it onto the spoon. “She’s showing off for guests,” Rune said to Boggs. “Court - you know how,” she

added sternly. “Ugly food.” She scrunched her nose up but began to eat properly. “Napkin,” Rune reminded her and Courtney picked a paper napkin out of a stack in

the center of the table and placed it on her lap. She resumed eating. Boggs watched them. “You’re kinda young to be a mother. Who’s the father?” He

laughed. “Other than me, I mean.” “Long story.” She then said, “What kind of beer you like to start with?” “Believe I’ll start with a Bud. ‘Buy American.’ When I went Inside, three years ago, that’s what everybody was saying. ‘Buy American.’ But nobody makes beer like Mexicans. I’ll save that Corona for dessert.”

“Come on over here.” Rune led him out to the deck, where they could have some privacy; but she could still watch Courtney.

“I didn’t want to say anything in there. In front of her.” She told him how Claire had abandoned the girl.

Boggs shook his head. “I don’t think I ever met anybody who’d do something like that.” “Claire’s totally immature.” “I never had me any kids.” He grinned. “Not that I know of, anyway. Not so there

was a paternity suit.” Rune said, “Me with a kid.” She shook her head. “You don’t know me that well but

it’s definitely role reversal.” “Looks to me like you two get along pretty good, though.” Rune’s eyes were dancing. “Oh, she’s the best. I always thought kids were, like, completely obnoxious. You know, they go through this phase where they can’t talk - they have to screech. And they don’t eat; they just barf. But what it is - I’ve figured this out they’re just like adults. Some days they’re in good moods, some days they’re in bitchy moods. And can we talk! We walk all over the place and I tell her things. She understands. Our minds kind of work alike.” Rune glanced at Courtney. “She’s going to be just like me when she grows up.” “I know natural
mothers
who don’t sound that happy with their kids.” Boggs was tasting the Bud like it was vintage wine. Rune offered him the bag of Chee-tos. He shook his head. He said, “Must be nice having someone to live with. I had me a couple girlfriends, various times, but I was never married. I don’t know, it’d be pretty strange for me, I think. Living with somebody when you don’t have to. Inside, you don’t have any choice, of course.” “Inside?” “In prison.” “Oh, sure . . . Well, I usually have roommates. They’re sort of a necessary evil in New York, with what rents go for. But I’ve lived by myself a lot. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s like a skill you work on.” “Don’t get lonely, huh?” “Sure. I remember some nights I’d be sitting there, watching
Gilligan’s Island
reruns on this black-and-white TV - you know, the kind with a coat hanger for an antenna? And I’d be watching this show and I’d hear a piece of paper slide under the door. And I’d start to get up and see what it was but then I wouldn’t. Because I knew it was only a menu from a Chinese restaurant a delivery guy was slipping under all the doors in the building. But if I
didn’t
go see then maybe it’d be a note from someone. Maybe it would say, There’s a party, in three-G. Plenty of men. Come in costume.’ Or maybe it would be mysterious. ‘Meet me on the corner of Avenue A and Ninth Street at midnight on the night of the full moon.’” Boggs was looking at her, trying to figure this all out. “But, naw, it was always just a menu. And I’d go back to sitcoms and commercials. But ups and downs - that’s what makes life what it is.” She thumped her chest. “I’m from Ohio peasant stock.” Boggs said, “There’s one thing I’d like to say . . .” Rune had been wondering if he’d bring up the sleeping arrangements, which is what

this sounded like it was going to be about. But just then Courtney called, “I want juice.” “Say ‘please.’” “I want please.” “Very funny.” Rune called, “One minute, honey.” To Boggs, she said, “I’m hungry

for some real food. I’ve got a couple leftover Whoppers in the fridge. You interested?” “Sure. Heat me one up too.” Rune started into the houseboat. Suddenly Boggs stopped. He turned and twisted his head, like a dog hearing an ultrasonic whistle. He lifted his face to the sky. His nostrils flared wide as he inhaled. “How ‘bout that?” “What?” “The smells,” he said. “Yeah, we aren’t exactly talking perfume in New York.” “No, I don’t mean that. What I mean is there’re a bunch of them. A thousand

smells.” She sniffed then shook her head. “I can’t make out too many.” Boggs inhaled again. “When you’re Inside there are only a couple smells you smell. Disinfectant. Onions or grease from the kitchen. Sweat. Spring air. Summer air ... It’s like you get used to them. But here - What do I smell?” “Rotten fish and dog doo and garbage and car exhaust.” “Nope. What I smell is freedom.”

One potato, two potato, three potato four . . .
Jack Nestor, walking slowly along the old docks on the Hudson River, was thinking: In Florida people
ought
to be on boats. Especially in south Florida, close to the ‘Glades, you realize that even on land there’s water everywhere and it’s a part of your life. Houses are raised up on stilts and everybody’s got a boat of some kind in the yard. But in New York, it seemed pretty weird to live on a boat. Five potato, six potato, seven potato, more . . . Nestor had parked on Tenth Street not far from the river. He’d rented the car, which he didn’t like doing because that left a record. But he knew that after what was about to happen there was a pretty good chance his description would go out citywide, including to the Port Authority police at the airports and bus and train stations. But nobody could ever stop you from
driving
out of New York.

The sun was down by now and the sky was a shade of blue it never was in Florida. It was a gray-blue, metalblue, junkyard blue. Nestor was thirsty but didn’t want to look for a deli - that many more people to see him. So he sat on a bench facing the city and waited for more darkness to fall. He stubbed out his cigarette, after taking one long final drag, deciding that the menthol made him less thirsty.
Eight potato, nine potato, no cops anymore . . .
The blue-and-white that had been parked on the highway near the houseboat, the cops eating sandwiches, drinking coffee, pulled away, made a lazy U-turn, then headed north. Time to go to work. He pulled out his gun and eased slowly toward the houseboat. “I learned a lot of law for one thing. They had a mess of law books Inside. Some of

the fellows write their own appeals. They do pretty good at it.” Rune nodded. Boggs was working on his Corona -he still wasn’t drunk, or even tired, it seemed - and Rune was sipping herbal tea and eating Twinkies. She’d wanted to tape him and ask him more questions about what life was like in prison. But he’d begged off. He was tired. Tomorrow, he said. Shoot me all you want tomorrow.

Courtney had gotten cranky; it was a little early for bed but she’d had a busy day helping get prisoners released from jail and playing the role of a convict’s daughter so Rune gave her a bath then put her to bed. She fell asleep almost at once. Rune bounded back into the living room portion of the cabin and saw Boggs sitting on the couch, looking uneasy, nervous. He cleared his throat and looked at her for a long moment, then away. Something was on his mind and she wondered if this was the moment when he was

going to bring up sleeping arrangements again or even make a move. As in, a man and a woman alone together. As in, a man who’s been behind bars for three years suddenly alone with a woman. But no propositions were forthcoming. Boggs got another beer and kept up a nervous chatter. They talked about life in the city for a few minutes, about Atlanta, about politics and Washington (he seemed to know a surprising number of facts for someone who appeared so redneck). Rune, expecting the line at any minute:
You know, I was thinking I might have me some trouble getting a room . . .
But just as that was going through her head Boggs yawned and looked at his watch. He said, “I ought to be finding a room for the night.”

And she surprised herself by saying, “You want, you can sleep in the living room. Courtney’s got the futon but we could fix up something.”

But he was shaking his head. “No, it’s funny, I can’t explain it, but I’d really be inclined to spend the night by myself, you know?”

“Sure.” Not understanding at all, but feeling relieved that he wanted to do this. “Let me pack up the rest of the beers. And I’ll give you some pizza for breakfast.” “Uh, no thanks. I’m pretty partial to oatmeal.” “I got some packets of instant,” she said. “You want a couple?” Which was a question that never got answered. With a huge crack, the front door burst open, hitting a table and knocking over a pile